


Hands (A Cup of Joe)

by incurableromancer



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hands, Holding Hands, M/M, Sex, Smut, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:28:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26962909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incurableromancer/pseuds/incurableromancer
Summary: Nicky likes to hold hands. Or, more accurately, he likes to touch Joe’s hands. ‘Holding’ seems to suggest the mere curl and squeeze of palms and fingers. Something casual. An affection that wouldn’t look out of place for any couple walking around in public.Nicky’s fascination feels far too intimate for the term.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 39
Kudos: 319





	Hands (A Cup of Joe)

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re unfamiliar, there’s an expression for a cup of coffee where it’s called a ‘cup of Joe.’ 
> 
> This is what happened after I let myself think about that expression for too long.

Nicky likes to hold hands. Or, more accurately, he likes to _touch_ Joe’s hands. ‘Holding’ seems to suggest the mere curl and squeeze of palms and fingers. Something casual. An affection that wouldn’t look out of place for any couple walking around in public.

Nicky’s fascination feels far too intimate for the term.

On the surface it’s easy, spontaneous touches. On sleepy mornings after Joe fills both of their coffee mugs, it's Nicky shuffling close to leech his warmth from behind, the whisper of his pointer finger trailing down Joe’s forearm. Then the touch tentatively descending further _downdowndown_ over the bone of his wrist, skimming feather-light over the back of his hand, tracing a few gentle circles and finally departing at the knuckle to reach for the mug as Nicky pushes a soft, ‘ _grazie. A cup of Joe from my Joe’_ out in his gravelly morning voice. Then, a quick kiss to Joe’s cheek if they’re working, or a smattering against his jaw and an arm curling around his belly, maybe to entice him back to bed if they’re alone.

It’s the barely there bump of their knuckles after a conversation winds down or somebody has somewhere else to be. Or Nicky taking the time to press a kiss to Joe's knuckles, it coming off exactly the same as it does when he tells Joe he loves him.

It’s a light guiding touch on the small of Joe’s back when he’s tired or too in his head after a tough mission, light pressure sliding over his hip before Nicky finally twists their fingers together to keep Joe walking on in the right direction towards the getaway car. Allowing Joe to simply hang on while Nicky commands the conversation, to take the breaths he needs to stay calm, not to let the fresh memories overwhelm him.

Or it’s Joe knowing to clasp their hands together when Nicky is the one who’s overwhelmed but refuses to let it show. At least not in a way that anyone other than Joe can pick up on. A thousand years together, and still his stubborn companion thinks that he should put his own wellbeing after that of everyone else in every circumstance. He’d come to accept fairly quickly that the second Joe picks up on it, however, he’s going to be taken care of. Against his will, if necessary. Joe’s strategy of wrapping him in a bear hug and refusing to let go until the tension drains from Nicky’s shoulders and he’s hugged back tends to do the trick. From there, Nicky is manhandled into a sitting position, and then Joe curls around him from behind, letting Nicky wrap up their arms as tightly or gently as he needs. Always, every single time, they lace their fingers together, and Nicky plays with Joe's until he's calm enough to be still. 

Joe isn’t sure why it’s hands, exactly. They’ve certainly developed thousands of other ways to express love, affection, trust, and devotion after so many years. It could have something to do with all the hand gestures they’d made use of in the beginning while still working on the nuances of their common languages. Or the fact that the first touch after the killing stopped began with a tentative reaching out, and then a firm grasping of their palms. It could simply be because it’s oftentimes the most convenient and simple way to express things, especially when words and eye contact feel too exposed in whatever the present company may be. Or it could be the fact that Nicky has seemingly always had a distinct fascination with how sensitive hands are to certain sensations.

When they feel like fucking slow and romantic, face to face, Nicky on top, it’s a sure thing that Joe finds one or both of his hands pinned above his head at some point. He loves it, and of course, Nicky does too. For Joe, it’s definitely something about surrendering any or all of his control to this man he shares his life with. Never fails to get him hot, all the trust involved, the opportunity to let go of everything and let Nicky take over. There’s an element of that for Nicky, too, but they both know that Nicky reaching for his hands in any context, and especially during sex, is just as much a physical expression of intimate emotions as whatever secondary purpose the contact serves.

They’ve had their share of experience with bondage and restraints. Ropes, silks, cotton, cuffs. Even chains, once, though one of the few things on Joe’s _never-again_ list is anything that involves making Nicky bleed as they had.

But it drives Nicky _insane_ when Joe simply twines their fingers and holds him down, keeping his lover trapped under his weight, and forces him to finish without being able to touch anything but Joe’s hands. He’s a vision, panting and sweating and whining, biting his lips and getting shy until the pleasure makes him forget why he ever would be. And then he’ll mewl and squeeze Joe’s hands back just as hard, moaning like he’s been on the edge for _years_ , curses and cries of Joe’s name that sound far better than any poetry Joe could write about him spilling out until he’s spent and dazed. Usually a soft disgruntled sound leaves his pouting lips when Joe finally releases his hands. Joe would consider himself spoiled if all their lovemaking consisted of was the way Nicky looks at him in those moments, so satisfied, cheeks flushed, lips kissed red, eyes so completely telling.

And afterwards, when Joe’s cleaned them both up and treated Nicky to more gentle touches and kisses and words both to make sure he’s not feeling too floaty, and just to express his reverence for his beautiful love, his heart, Nicky still feels it necessary to wrap his hand around Joe’s and kiss the delicate skin inside his wrist and rub his thumb over the soft skin until they fall asleep. And Joe’s heart almost can’t contain how much he loves this man, loves how he expresses his affection.

Nicky is not a jealous man. He never has been. Even in the beginning, before the centuries that have only further cemented the absolute certainty of their bond, it just wasn’t in his nature. He knows Joe is a gorgeous man with a heart of gold, and people like him are bound to draw attention. And he knows that Joe will never turn his own attention on anyone but himself. And crucially, he knows that being tactile is a fundamental part of who Joe is. He touches and hugs and shakes hands freely. Nicky knew this about him before he ever thought of them as more than travelling companions, and then when they became more, it was never a problem. Their love has been the only thing in their lives that has been consistently generous and kind to them. 

The only times that have ever come _close_ to Nicky being jealous, however, have involved hand holding. Just strange expressions on Nicky’s handsome face that disappeared as quickly as they showed up. It took Joe many, many years to discern them, and eventually to pinpoint that they came about after he’d held onto somebody’s hand for an excessively long time. He’s had to make full efforts to seduce women and men for their missions and Nicky never even bats an eye. But once, during the Renaissance, when Joe’d taken up painting and one of his models offered to demonstrate a technique on his hand for working out drawing cramps, Joe had actually gotten to witness Nicky being rude to a lady.

It took him even longer to realize that after such instances, as soon as they’re alone, Nicky would take it upon himself to reclaim Joe’s hands with his own and leave at least one firm kiss.

Disagreements are inevitable in any relationship, and considering the way theirs started, they’re very good at fighting. But after a rough couple weeks with no physical contact at all, stubbornness and pride and too-hot weather all prolonging some arbitrary argument or other, nothing could have prepared Joe for the absolutely _wounded_ look in Nicky’s eyes when he’d looked up while telling a story around the fire and realized he’d been doing it with Quynh’s hand curled around his own. She’d grabbed his in her laughter only minutes before, and then they’d just stayed like that, she as free with her touches as Joe. With Andy’s head in her lap, and considering the decades of friendship between the four of them, there was _obviously_ nothing more to it, and Joe knew Nicky would never think there was. But holding hands _means something_ to Nicky, and Joe _knows him_ , and hadn’t touched him at all in so long that in the moment it made him feel ashamed of himself, and so he stood up, walked around the fire, sat himself down beside his stubborn, beautiful man and wrapped his arms around him. And he ignored Quynh and Andy’s teasing when Nicky hugged him back and breathed out his apologies for the past days, too busy joking amongst themselves to notice Nicky tearing up as Joe pressed chaste kisses to his hands, promises that they would talk and he would make it up to Nicky later.

Sometimes, however, it doesn’t necessarily have to mean anything at all. Nicky just likes to touch Joe’s hands, as though it’s a hobby.

They’re curled up on a hotel bed that’s too small for two men of their size, fighting off jet-lagged sleepiness to try and hold out at least for the sun to set before they allow themselves to drift off. It’s chilly, and they’re wrapped up in a couple of Nicky’s hoodies, each other, and the sheets.

Hiding a yawn against Joe’s chest, Nicky murmurs, very, very softly, as though he’s hoping Joe won’t hear him at all, “maybe we should get up if we’re going to stay awake.”

Joe only hums softly, and neither of them move an inch.

Joe curls in closer and gently massages his free palm against the back of Nicky’s neck. He loves how Nicky pushes into the touch, sighing gently, loves that he gets to watch his eyelashes flutter as he struggles against his heavy eyelids. That, and the feeling of the soft, short hair at the back of his neck, smelling freshly of apples from the shower.

He brushes a finger against the shell of Nicky’s ear, smiling at the minute hunching of his shoulders, how the corner of his kissable mouth tics up. His pretty blue eyes don’t stray, however, from where he’s got Joe’s hand cradled gently in his own.

He’s tracing the tip of his pointer finger so very softly, feather-light along the lines of Joe’s palm. It tickles, just a little. Joe doesn’t ever want him to stop. It’s been many, many minutes since they’d given in to the exhaustion and settled down, and yet Nicky still looks enraptured with his little game, completely taken with whatever it is he sees and feels. Joe’s asked before, and the best Nicky can word it is that it “feels nice,” followed with some form of “I love you.”

Whether or not there’s anything more to it than that, the familiar motion soothes them both equally, lulling them closer to sleep.

Joe tucks his chin over the top of Nicky’s head so that he doesn’t yawn in his face. Then he asks,

“Remind me again why we need to be on a logical sleep schedule right now?”

Nicky smiles wider, shifting a little to rub his nose against Joe’s chest.

“Because Andy said so. Give it a few more minutes though, and I might be inclined to forget.”

Joe laughs with him, can’t help but apologetically tug his palm away so that he can gently coax Nicky’s chin high enough to kiss the pout off of his lips.

Way too early the next morning (Andy is going to kill them), Nicky wakes to the ticklish sensation of Joe tracing a feather-light fingertip against his own open palm. His sweet, dark eyes are still very sleepy, but his expression is thoroughly fascinated.

Nicky cuddles closer and whispers, “mm. Feel’s nice.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not even sure what this was but my brain wouldn't let me do anythng else until i wrote it, so i hope it was enjoyable !!


End file.
